Following the Phoenix - Flashes
by hezzel
Summary: A series of short flashes, set in the months and years after the events of Following the Phoenix.
1. Summer Job

**Author's Note:** this "story" is actually a collection of "flashes" set in the months and years following the main events of _Following the Phoenix_. If you have not yet read the main story, this will not make much sense. _Following the Phoenix_ can be found under my pen name (hezzel), then go to My Stories. Or directly skip to s/10636246/1/

Please note: I am not actively developing this story anymore, just writing the occasional chapter because I enjoy writing and some of these ideas stuck in my mind. _Flashes_ has no true plot, and some of the flashes are likely to be less interesting than others. I guess what I'm saying is: please don't feel obliged to read this even if you did enjoy FtP. :) Also, please do not expect regular updates; I will probably keep posting now and then, but there will be large hiatuses.

For those who have spent the past few months reading many HPMOR-sequel-fanfics: remember that FtP is _not_ a sequel, it's a spinoff, which does not include the final arc of HPMOR. In FtP, souls exist, Harry Potter is just Harry Potter, and his pet rock simply died due to negligence. At the end of the story, Hermione has a phoenix, the statute of secrecy has fallen and Harry has gained a new mentor.

* * *

 **SUMMER JOB  
**

* * *

 _July 1992._

Hermione loved her parents. That much was really beyond question. And she _was_ thrilled that, after all the changes the last months had brought, she could finally involve them in her world, showing them all the wonders of magic and the culture surrounding it. However, she had to admit that _certain_ things had been significantly more practical when magic was secret, the Hogwarts staff operated on a need-to-know basis with respect to Muggle parens, and she was able to carefully refrain from telling them anything that would particularly worry them.

The permission form lay on the table between them. She was a minor, after all, and needed parental permission for a summer job, especially a potentially hazardous one, no matter what she may have been up to in the previous months.

"Hermione is _twelve_ ," her father said in a strained voice. "Don't you have adults who can do this work?"

"Frankly, no," the man from the British Space Agency said calmly. "There aren't that many people with a phoenix in the world, and most of them are too old, too busy, or don't understand the first thing about technology. What's more, none of them are _ours_ – British citizens – except for one old man who has neither the time nor the inclination."

"It's not safe," her mother protested.

"Actually, there's no reason to expect any danger," the man contradicted her. "We're aware of her youth, and won't lightly assign her any hazardous missions. Her tasks will be primarily research-related – for example, we'd like to test the speed of a phoenix, and whether it's subject to relativity. _If_ we send her into space – and rest assured that you'll have to agree on every individual mission of such a nature – it'll be done with all possible precautions. For example, before even _thinking_ of allowing Hermione to go to the moon, we'd send an older witch or wizard there in the usual way to verify that the conditions are no problem to magic users. We'd also confirm beforehand that magical creatures can survive, and have a rocket with trained astronauts near the place where she would arrive, just in case. She could be returned the normal way if the phoenix should fail her."

"Or you could take her to a satellite first?" Her father brought up.

"Right," the man nodded calmly. "Although that might actually be _less_ safe, since magic is apparently known to disturb electrical devices. That's actually another test we'd like to perform soon – how much and what kind of magic our devices can handle, and whether the conditions of outer space affect this."

Hermione looked from her father to her mother. "Pleeeeaaaase?"

Mother frowned deeply. "Herm, dear, do you know how many space missions have gone wrong? Real life isn't like the movies, quite a few astronauts have died!"

"It's not the same!" She argued. "I'll have Xare with me, and people protecting me and magical shielding and everything. Plus, you heard Mr. Town, it'll mostly be about research, all on earth."

"In the beginning, perhaps," her mother said sharply. "But I expect we'll be seeing quite a few more forms before the year is over!"

"Mum," she begged. "Please? I really want to do this, and I think it _needs_ to be done. It could mean so much for everyone... there's so much we could learn! And it honestly doesn't seem all that dangerous." Xare rubbed her beak against Hermione's cheek in support, and agreed with a loud " _Caw!_ ".

Her parents just gave each other a long look.

"Mr. Town," her father asked. "Do you mind if my wife and I discuss in private for a few moments?"

"Not at all. I can return later, if you prefer."

"Just a few minutes." The two disappeared into the kitchen.

Hermione bit her lip. Unfortunately, this really was her parents' decision, and aside from putting on her most convincing pleading, there wasn't all that much she could do about it. And yes, in all fairness, even with the BSA being very careful, there probably _would_ be a little bit more danger than a twelve-year-old child was generally exposed to in the Muggle world. It was just that, after everything that had been going on for the past year, her sense of danger had been recalibrated a bit. Anything the adults in the British Space Agency were likely to allow a girl her age to do was probably not much more dangerous than the average flying lesson in Hogwarts. After facing the Wizengamot twice, all her escapades in Azkaban, hopping over the world destroying Dementors, being lethally shot and evacuating people in the middle of a battle to the death, she just couldn't be afraid of merely doing magical research in outer space. Besides, with Xare by her side, she was doomed to get into hazardous situations anyway.

The door opened and her parents returned. There was a tense silence, before her father broke it.

"Hermione," he began, in a grave tone. Her heart sank. Of the two, he had been the one who seemed more positive about the possible adventure. "I hope you understand our concerns. Just a few weeks ago we learned that, despite everything your Professor McGonagall told us about Hogwarts being safe, you ended up being framed for murder, judged as an adult, and thrown into a rather horrifying prison – which we had to learn about from the television."

Hermione squirmed. There had been _words_ about that, although her parents had at last accepted that at the time she had had good reasons to postpone the inevitable confrontation.

"We would never go behind your back, sir," Mr. Town assured him.

"I know, I know," father sighed. "It's just that... after that, and then the sudden war, you can probably see why we're a _little_ worried about assurances of safety. Really, we want nothing more than to keep our little girl close to us, wrap her up in cotton wool and keep her away from anything dangerous for the rest of her life."

"But you _can't_ , Dad," Hermione argued. "There's always going to be _some_ dangers. And it doesn't seem like it would be that bad in this case, while there's a _lot_ of good that I could do with the space program."

"We know, honey," her mother agreed quietly, glancing at Xare. "And we know that you're never going to have a normal childhood no matter what we say." She grimaced sadly.

Her father cleared his throat. "All things considered, you're probably right. In comparison to some of the things you've been up to this year, going to the moon seems positively mundane. And that's not even what your main work will be for the time being." He looked at the BSA man, who nodded calmly.

"So... you'll let me go?" Hermione hardly dared to ask it.

"Let's get this straight: we want _good_ reassurances, we want to be kept _fully_ into the loop, we _will_ look over everything that requires our permission, we want to be able to end or suspend your contract at _any_ time, _and_ we'd like some words with the magical government about additional protections they can give you. But conditional on that... yes, we'll allow it."

As Hermione squealed and jumped to hug her parents, the phoenix cawed a rousing battle cry.


	2. Rebuilding

**REBUILDING**

* * *

The world spun and gleamed, lightning crackling at the edges of vision while thunder roared at the sound of a whisper. The line between light and darkness blurred, the air distorting as time itself was caught up in the flight of particles, when stone fell upon stone and the very earth was infused with a sense of purpose.

Amidst a whirlwind of magic, a wizard of unparalleled power stood, weaving the threads of raw energy into something solid. Not building, but rather _growing_ the castle from its foundations, Albus Dumbledore raised hallways, towers and empty spaces, the outer structure that would accommodate the greater magics that would support the architecture within. And in every part of the castle, in every room, wall, and even the loose stones, a tiny morsel of magic to contribute to the overall sentience instilled in the castle, that would allow the school to understand and adapt to the needs of the people living within it. Surrounding the castle, the land was sated with concentrated power, nurturing the manifestation of ghosts, and encouraging the growth of magical plants and creatures, and the lure of prophecies. The new Hogwarts grounds would be as grand as the old ones, and provide a safe living place to the many magical races and creatures that used to call Hogwarts their home as well.

Where once the four founders had built together, the old wizard now stood alone. There was much to be done, the work of weeks or even months, but he, more than anyone, understood the Hogwarts that had once been, and at last, after more than a century of life, he had learned the magics to reproduce it. None could help him, for Ignotus Peverell had sworn him to keep the potentially dangerous magics to himself, but it was a small price to pay. It might cost him most of the magic left in his body, but Hogwarts would be restored to its former glory. If he could help it – and he probably could – the new school year would even begin on time. Perhaps the work would not be finished yet, but at least the castle should be inhabitable by September the first.

It had not been an easy decision, but the school would be remade exactly as it had been. Four great Houses, not three as he once would have chosen. For decades, Slytherin House had been a fertile ground for bigotry and intolerance, evidenced in the worst way when its members had flocked en masse to the Dark Lord's call. But before that, Slytherin had a proud history, and produced many outstanding witches and wizards of the light. With Voldemort gone, with the country's power structure changing as it had, there was hope for the House once more. Severus, certainly, would do all he could to bring his House back to its former glory. He deserved to be given the chance.

Nor would there be a fifth House. True, he was doing a founder's work, but it would feel wrong to lend his name to a part of the new Hogwarts. Although – he ruefully admitted to himself – it would be a dear wish if, like Godric Gryffindor, his life would be remembered primarily for his work with Hogwarts rather than for the many wars he had fought. And he could just imagine Minerva's firm voice telling him that he had every right to found a Dumbledore House, and picture her expression when he put her in charge of it...

 _Oh, Minerva._

Of all the recent war's losses, hers was the one he felt most keenly. The sobering presence of his deputy headmistress had been a constant solace in his life for many decades, and she had been closer to him than anyone still alive. She, of all people, had been supposed to survive him, not die a senseless, pointless death at the hand of some misguided cretin.

It was a bitter irony that, now that the wars of his life were finally over, the conviction that had carried him through all those years was shattered beneath him. For all the friends he had lost, for all the allies he'd sacrificed, there had been the one comfort that, some day, he would be able to apologize to them. In his quiet moments, he had sometimes wondered what it would be like, when the time finally came to lay down his head and go to his rest, to see everyone again on their next great adventure.

Nothing.

There was _nothing_.

There was no afterlife where his loved ones might be waiting for him. He would never see Aberforth again and be able to beg for his forgiveness. Nor Ariana, nor mother or father. Oh, he could use the resurrection stone, but it would be a paltry thing, and if he took it once, would he ever be able to give it up? Or worse – and even knowing that the first argument _should_ weigh high enough on his mind to stop him, it was this fear above all that turned him away from the temptation – what if they did not forgive him? They had no true life, no capacity for change. If Aberforth had hated his brother when he died, which he had every reason to do, he could never be persuaded to feel differently.

Albus had kept up his outward demeanor, showing nothing of his inner turmoil to the people around him. The world was a fragile place, and he was needed still, perhaps more so now than ever before, to guide the merge of the magical and Muggle civilizations. There were others who might, but in Britain few were experienced and respected enough to do the work that needed doing in these first few years, averting the disasters that might come from sudden, explosive progress, while not blocking the potential good. For all that he might wish to rest, his duty was to wear the mantel of a leader, and that meant that no one could see that something inside him had broken.

He gazed ahead, shaping the magic around him with only half a mind. One thin strand of hope remained. Harry Potter believed, as did Ignotus Peverell, that death could be defeated. That one day, even those who had gone before could be restored to a body. It seemed impossible; a fancy dream, and more than a little dark besides. And yet, that dream was all he had left.

It was not a hope for himself. Even now, death held no fear for him, for he had lived his life, and he knew that soon it would be enough. He had spoken true when the Boy-Who-Lived had asked him this question as a hypothetical. The idea of death, which he had once met with calm and even some joy, felt bitter to him now, but even so, he was still old and weary; he had no wish to linger longer than he must. But if those who had died before their time, at least, could be restored, then that would be a great comfort.

He sighed to himself. _Wouldn't it be nice?_ It was not a hope he could believe in. But perhaps it didn't matter. The Peverell-Potter dream would progress, or it would not, without his help. His task was to make the world the best place it could be for the people who still lived.

And that, he thought with a small smile as he poured his magic into the castle where the clock tower grew before his eyes, was something he could do.


	3. Potions Seminar

**POTIONS SEMINAR**

* * *

The Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape, stood in front of the seminar room, dressed in neat-looking robes and with his long, black hair tied back. In the seats, three dozen highly accredited researchers from universities and businesses all over the country, spanning as many different fields. All of them had been given an overview of existing potions to read through, along with a somewhat shaky description of the brewing process. Now, they'd have the time for questions. Professor Frank Smith looked at the long list in front of him. He suspected this was going to take several afternoons.

Professor Snape calmly looked around the room. "Thank you all for coming. As I'm sure you all have a lot of questions, we will use a rigid approach to make this session proceed smoothly. You may only speak when I call on you – but rest assured that I will endeavor to be fair. To indicate that you have a question, briefly place your hand on the plate in front of you; if you have nothing further to contribute or wish to defer to others for the moment, simply place your hand on the plate again. As I'm sure you are aware, your discretion on today's results is required, so if you take notes, please make them openly, so they can be enchanted in the unlikely event that it should be needed."

With a wave of his hand, the lights in the room dimmed and the glass disc in front of Frank turned a light blue. He pressed it with his hand, and it lit up. Around the room, other people were doing the same.

"Let's start," the wizard said without further delay. A man in the center of the room was suddenly surrounded by a soft-yellow light. "You, sir?"

"Thank you," the elderly professor said. "To start with what I consider the most pertinent question: would it be possible to supply everyone here room with wit-sharpening and perhaps memory potion before the next session?"

That wasn't the question Frank would consider the highest priority, but he could see the point. It was much like being given three wishes by a genie, and using the first to ask for the wisdom to best use the other two. Besides, making key people more intelligent wouldn't just help the drinkers, but could be useful to all of humanity.

The Potions Master, however, merely raised an eyebrow. "Do you need it?"

"Of course," the Muggle professor said exasperatedly. "Why _wouldn't_ I need it? Mind magic like that could be invaluable. Even the most intelligent man on earth would be better off being more intelligent, if his job required thinking."

"True, I suppose," the wizard conceded. "But the effect of the wit-sharpening potion is most noticeable to those who start out dull-witted. If you normally think clearly, you might not notice much of a difference. As for memory potion, there's only so much good to be won from a better memory."

The man frowned. "Even so, I would like to try it. Even if the effect is small, its impact could push you over the barrier needed for another discovery – both for the magic project and other studies. I understand that these potions are toxic in large quantities, but I can't see any reason not to take at least wit-sharpening sometimes, for example when developing a new theory."

Professor Snape inclined his head. "One reason would be the cost: these ingredients are not too common. But very well, we can procure some before the next session. However, am I right to assume that most of you are Muggles, not Squibs?"

The Muggle Professor looked around. "Ithink so. Ah. Do you mean to say that this potion will only work on those who have some magic?"

"Most potions are like that," the wizard nodded. "It's a key tool in potion design to use the drinker's own magic as a final ingredient. This _can_ usually be avoided with some effort, but as you can imagine, there has been preciously little need to specifically design potion recipes for Muggle usage in recent centuries. As it is, a witch or wizard will have to manually activate the potion in you."

"Hmmm. But in theory, a new recipe could be designed which does not require that?"

"Perhaps. However, it would require a substantial time investment from a Master Potioneer, so you would have to be able to argue that it is more worthwhile than spending that same time on adapting healing potions."

"I see. Perhaps giving it to politicians during important debates such as budget negotiations might satisfy that requirement Although I suppose you would have to make sure that they do not take it during election rallies... is it possible to adapt the potion so it's obvious when someone has drunk it?"

"Yes," Professor Snape said with a slight smirk, "politicians would most likely gain the full benefit, nor is it hard to build a visual feedback into potion recipes. _However_ , I believe we have strayed far from the point. If you have no further urgent questions on this topic, I believe it's time to give someone else a chance."

"I... yes, I apologize, thank you sir."

 _Wow_ , Frank thought. _Blunt but effective._ He wasn't sure whether it would be brilliant or terrible if all session chairs were like this.

Another man lit up.

"I wanted to ask about Polyjuice Potion," he began. "For what I read, it's supposed to make your body equal to that of the one you impersonate, at the time their 'contribution' to the potion was taken, although I don't quite get how you manage to go on thinking like before. So what happens if someone with physical handicaps polyjuices into someone with an undamaged body?"

"They temporarily have an undamaged body. Of course, damage sustained while polyjuiced still translates to their original body, which can give unexpected results if they got wounded in parts which their normal body does not have."

"What if someone very old turns into a young person?"

"That's no problem, although they would do well not to overexert themselves before turning back, as their older heart might not be able to take the exhaustion."

"Can you turn into a younger version of yourself?"

"If you have saved bits of your younger self, yes. But, since I have a feeling where you're going: no, you cannot remain under the influence of polyjuice indefinitely, and the longer you have been changed, the larger the toll on your body is. What is more, the potion is not accessible to Muggles, or even Squibs."

"Oh." The disappointment in the man's voice was evident, and Frank could relate. It hadn't been likely – wizards themselves didn't seem to have solved immortality yet – but it would have been so nice if it had worked. "Why not? Could that be fixable?"

"No," the wizard said simply. "This is fundamental in the way the potion works, much like human transfiguration. As you noted yourself, your original brain is absent while you are transformed. You can still think because the magic temporarily transfers your mind to your magic, but it puts a stress on your consciousness which accumulates over time. Most witches and wizards cannot remain in an altered form for more than a few weeks. Only those whose magic is attuned to possession have a chance of extending it to years, but even then, permanence is out of the question. For Muggles or Squibs to complete the transformation is quite impossible, as even young magical children cannot. If they could, they would be reduced to the state of a Demented, unable to use their altered body."

"That... explains a lot, really," the researcher said slowly. "So does this mean that a polyjuiced body contains the complete brain of the target at the time their hair was taken?"

Professor Snape frowned. "I believe so, but the drinker has no way to access this brain."

"But future technology might. Can it be used to impersonate Muggles?"

"Yes."

"Then, surely we should encourage those on the verge of death – or well before, just in case – to save a hair while they live, so they can be recovered once technology has improved?"

Professor Snape shrugged. "I'm hardly an expert. You may wish to speak to those who have studied the soul."

" _Soul?_ "

"Yes. I do believe Lord Potter intends to have a question and answer session later this summer. Was that all?"

The man in the spotlight opened and closed his mouth several times before finding his voice again. Frank could sympathize. Did wizards actually have proof of an afterlife, and yet fail to mention this in any of their brochures?

"Ah... Well..." The man said, still visibly discomposed. "I also wanted to know about Veritaserum. If you have –"

"Please save your question," the wizard interrupted bluntly. "There will be opportunity for second topics later." The light surrounding the Muggle scientist winked out, and his voice was suddenly muted even in the middle of his sentence.

 _Wow. That's just ruthless. And this man used to be a school teacher? I guess in class he shows a completely different persona_ _._ Although on the upside, everyone might just get two or three turns before the end of the day.

A dark-haired woman lit up. She looked disconcerted, then cleared her throat.

"I wanted to ask about love potions. Is it possible to use any of those on Muggles?"

Frank groaned inwardly. Apparently the ethics department had sent a representative as well.

"Oh, _all_ of them can be."

The woman's voice turned hard. "That is, all love potions were _explicitly designed_ to work on Muggles."

The wizard just inclined his head, not responding.

"How," the woman pushed, "was this rape drug ever legal? How was it _not even regulated_?"

"Love potions are exceedingly useful for self-administration in an unhappy marriage, and sexual abuse using love potions was in fact illegal. However, they are currently outlawed, and the purpose of this session is not to moralize about the past. Next question." The light surrounding the woman abruptly disappeared, and another woman was selected. "Yes? You seem particularly agitated to speak."

"Yes! I – this was not the first question I had planned, but I think I have to respond – I thought Love Potions were one of the more useful items on the list! Sir, as I understand it, the most common love potions will focus your affection on the required target, to the exclusion of everyone else. Is that correct?"

"It is."

"Could... let's say a heterosexual person be made to 'love' a person of their own gender?"

"Yes. I can think of some misguided pranksters who have done this test." For some reason, there was a little anger in his voice now.

"And the potion can be subtle enough to use for years on end, in a marriage like you suggested, and it would still stop you from feeling a sexual attraction to others?"

"Correct."

"Right. That's pedophilia cured then, at least on a voluntary basis. I'm sure the government would allow love potions for that purpose. At least... that would work, right?"

"I see no reason why it wouldn't."

"Thank you, Professor. Those were my only questions on this topic."

Frank startled as he suddenly lit up. He quickly scrambled for his list of questions.

"My questions were related to the _brewing process_ ," he started, making sure the man wouldn't cut him off for asking seemingly unrelated questions. "I was wondering, which parts of it require magic?"

The wizard frowned. "The stirring for certain. I'm not sure as to the rest, but I know that gathering and preparing ingredients is a traditional Squib occupation. I'm not sure whether a full Muggle could do the same, or whether any magic is needed to add ingredients to the cauldron."

 _Promising._ "Does it require a lot of magic? Could a child, hypothetically, brew all potions if the ingredients came prepared?"

"Many potions can have disastrous consequences when brewed incorrectly, and a child would not have the precision required. But magically, yes."

"Does the brewer need to be aware of what he's doing, or does it suffice if someone tells him exactly when and how to stir?"

"The latter. If not, hardly any student would manage to pass their O.W.L."

Frank decided not to comment on the quality of the teaching. If Potions was taught in magic school the way mathematics was taught in Muggle school, then that was for the magical people to sort out. Besides, it was the answer he'd been hoping for.

"Could a student be assisted? For instance, could a Muggle – or rather, a machine – do the stirring movement while the student merely holds the stirrer?"

"It seems unlikely, but I don't know."

 _Well, even if that doesn't work, we can always push the_ arm _to get the required precision rather than the stirrer._ "Can potions be brewed in arbitrarily large cauldrons?"

"Some recipes would need to be adapted for the altered contact with the heat source, and if the cauldron is too large, it may not be humanly possible to stir effectively."

 _But it might not be_ just _a human doing the stirring._ "Thank you, sir. No further questions for now."

The light surrounding him disappeared, and Frank started scribbling on his paper. The man hadn't been able to give him all the answers, but that just meant that there was obvious room for his project proposal. Given the enormous potential payoff, he was pretty sure he'd get it approved: with the increase of land available for magical plants and animals, and with Squibs being able to work with them, the brewing process itself was a bottleneck. If machines could help a single non-expert to quickly brew complex potions, it would free up the actual potion masters to develop new recipes. In a few years, it might be possible to make magical healing available to _everyone_. He was quite looking forward to reaching 150 while sound in body and mind.

"... will be a great asset in the preservation of protected species," the woman in the spotlight observed. "What about magical animals? Could fertility potions also be used to bring the populations in line with the space that is now available for them?"

Frank shook himself, and started paying attention again. The possibilities of magic wear near-endless. He wouldn't want to miss any ideas.


	4. A Black Trial

**Author's Note:** In chapter 106 / 26 of Following the Phoenix, we hear a little about Sirius Black, who has granted the Hogwarts delegation access to his parental home in exchange for a trial. There wasn't really an opportunity to resolve this particular plot bunny in the main text, so here's the tale! There will be a bit more background on this in chapter 15.

* * *

 **A BLACK TRIAL**

* * *

 _August 1992._

"The eighty-ninth session of the two-hundred-and-eight Wizengamot is convened at the request of Lord Sirius Black. Lord Black was incarcerated in Azkaban following his arrest in nineteen eighty one and, due to wartime circumstances, not awarded a trial at the time. Today, we will correct this oversight."

Harry looked around at the faces in the Most Ancient Hall. The three Muggle judges who had been assigned to participate in criminal cases in the Wizengamot looked a little ill at ease in their very first session. The magical members showed a variety of expressions, mixed between curiosity, boredom, anger, resentment and excitement. It was unclear who, if any, bought into some of the many conspiracy theories regarding Black. More of them had probably accepted the narrative that he had been Voldemort's right-hand man, which the Daily Prophet had spouted despite the complete lack of any evidence for the claim. Harry hoped that the Muggle judges could manage to instill some sense into the proceedings, but he'd made sure to be there anyway, just in case. It was his first appearance in the Wizengamot since the meeting where he was given power of negotiation. There had been many dirty looks, but nobody had contested that he had the right to be here today, at the trial of the man who had once been named his godfather.

A click of the Chief Warlock's rod silenced the muttering that had risen up. "Let Sirius, Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, be brought in."

The doors opened, and a gaunt man was floated in, flanked by six Aurors. His hands and feet were chained, and there was a band around his neck that, Harry knew, was designed to non-lethally incapacitate him if not deactivated every five minutes by a recognized authority. He was pale and skinny, his eyes sunken and his hair matted, even after four months away from Azkaban. Of course, Nurmengard was hardly the best facility to recover from years of Dementor exposure, and the move towards more humane prisons had been slow. For clothes, he wore little but a sleeveless gray robe, the Dark Mark clearly visible on his left arm.

"Sirius Black," Albus Dumbledore boomed when the wizard had been lowered and chained into the metal chair. "You have asked this body to pass judgment for your crimes. To wit: that you knowingly joined a terrorist organization; that you willingly betrayed the location of James, Lily and Harry Potter to your master, in the full understanding that it would most likely lead to their deaths; that you murdered Petter Pettigrew and twelve Muggle bystanders. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, the main in chains looked up, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

"Not Sirius," he croaked. He brought his gaze to the Chief Warlock's face, a haunted look in his eyes. "I'm not Sirius. My name is _Regulus_ Black."

Harry silently groaned. _Of course_ the second-most famous Death Eater, who never got a trial, would turn out to secretly be the long-lost twin brother of the real culprit or something like that. _Or_ , Slytherin quickly filled in, _Sirius Black never did anything wrong, and was wrongly accused of the crimes of his Death Eater lookalike._

He shot a glance at the Muggle judges, who were showing a mix of confusion, shock and outrage, not just at the prisoner's statement but at the fact that it wasn't immediately dismissed as nonsense. Even the Muggle police, who did not have access to truth serums, mind-reading, memory-viewing and permission to use torture in select cases, would generally be able to confirm an important prisoner's name before sending them to court, let alone imprisoning them. It would take some time to get used to the way things were done in the magical courts.

Harry silently smirked as he sat back and relaxed. _This is going to be interesting._

* * *

The prisoner sat silently as an Auror performed the identification spells, and in a clipped voice informed the Wizengamot that he was, in fact, Regulus Black. An accomplished wizard might have tricked those spells, but not after ten years in Azkaban, bereft of a wand and kept in a magic-suppressing environment afterwards. Besides, Gringotts could confirm his identity with a simple blood test; the Black family had registered all their children with the bank.

"But he's dead!" Someone on the benches gasped.

The prisoner just turned his head towards the man. He didn't know him, but that didn't mean much, anymore. There were vast gaps in his memory, although it was still surprisingly coherent for the most part; he couldn't remember anymore, of course, but he suspected that there had been preciously little happiness in his life to begin with.

"I am not," he said simply. Then, for good measure, he added: "Would you prefer to ask the goblins, or would it be enough if I told you where to find Sirius's body?"

There was a brief silence, as – hopefully – his message sunk in.

Another, an elderly man spoke up. "Excuse me, but not everyone here is well-versed in the composition of the Noble Houses. Is this a relative of Sirius Black?"

A gray-haired woman stepped forward. Madam Bones, the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. She had spoken to him yesterday to inform him of the details of his trial. "Regulus Black is the younger brother of Sirius Black. He was a known You-Know-Who supporter, but was _supposedly_ executed by the Dark Lord in seventy-nine."

 _Oh yes, and quite the spectacular public execution that was._ His parents and grandfather had been tortured and executed, along with some lowlife polyjuiced to take on Regulus's appearance. But Regulus himself had been kept by the Dark Lord's side, under the Imperius Curse: he was a talented spellcrafter, and therefore too useful to dispose of. Not that that had saved him from his punishment for attempting to flee his master's service, of course.

"But surely the Aurors tested..." Another spoke, trailing of. "Were they so much alike?"

"Yes," the prisoner snarled. "My brother and I never had much in common, but in _looks_ we were rather similar." _At least similar_ enough _for a bunch of incompetent Aurors who knew neither of us personally, and couldn't be bothered with the investigative work._

"But if he's not Sirius Black..." A woman spoke slowly, "then he couldn't have betrayed the Potters, could he?"

"Of course not," Regulus bit. "And nor did my brother, for that matter." He glared up at the Chief Warlock. "You never figured it out?"

Old Dumbledore visibly hesitated. "Sirius Black was the Potters' Secret-Keeper. So they all told me, and I personally confirmed it."

"Not _the_ Secret-Keeper. _A_ Secret-Keeper. The other one was Peter Pettigrew. A _backup_ , in case Sirius was killed. He was also, in case you were still wondering, the spy in your precious Order."

It wasn't much of a pleasure to see the Chief Warlock struck dumb, but it would do for now.

The gray-haired woman – Madam Bones – cleared her throat. "I would propose adjourning until after we have completed interrogations –"

 _Oh Merlin, no. Not another delay._

"– but I can see that this is not in line with the wishes of the Wizengamot. Thus, Lord Black, would you be willing to give us a bit more detail?"

Regulus couldn't suppress a feral grin. He'd been waiting for this moment for over a decade. "Oh yes, Madam Director. With pleasure."


	5. Transfiguring Energy

**TRANSFIGURING ENERGY**

* * *

"All right," Dr. Madelaine Deyne summarized. "Transfiguration is not permanent. I get that. But that's really the _only_ danger?"

"Oh no, certainly not," the middle-aged wizard who had introduced himself as Master Blake protested. "But it's the _main_ one. Problems like instability only tend to occur during experiments."

Dr. Deyne frowned. "Right. So how does this work at the molecular level? If you transfigure a block of ice into wood and burn – _yes_ , I know you shouldn't do that, but _hypothetically_ – would you get water vapor? Hydrogen? Or even hydroxide or hydronium, or odd bindings that would never occur in nature?"

Master Blake shifted uncomfortably. "This is getting into _theoretical_ transfiguration. You know our mandate is only to look for practical applications – there's a moratorium on any foundational study until enough experts on both sides have been cleared to perform such a study in a responsible way."

She huffed in annoyance. With rules like that, it was a miracle if they were ever going to make _any_ progress.

"How will I even _get_ that clearance without knowing the basics? And how do you expect me to make any practical suggestions without a theoretical understanding?"

"Transfiguration masters come up with applications all the time, without knowing the first bit about chemistry," he pointed out. "What you ask simply isn't know at present."

" _Seriously?_ "

He smirked. "Oh yes. I know a bit about science – my parents and brother were Muggles – but magic isn't like that. We understand the surface rules of magical systems like transfiguration, no more. You can do a lot, merely knowing _how_ something works, not _why_ it works."

"But... if _you_ knew about atoms, why didn't you ever –"

"Money," he shrugged. "Basic knowledge of physics and chemistry isn't _that_ helpful. They can help you predict the stability of the result of a transfiguration, but to answer the kinds of questions you asked would require at least a partial university education, and a number of extremely expensive experiments. And I think you will find that in the magical world, the money is with the pureblood Houses, who tend not to be inclined to invest in research using Muggle ideas, especially when it's questionable whether the results would make a profit."

 _That_ sounded remarkably familiar, at least, save for the blatantness of the bigotry. "I'll put the theoretical questions on hold – for now. Just for practical applications then..." Despite the annoyance, she _had_ seen a few crucial breaches of the laws of physics that could surely be exploited. "Can you use transfigured things before they turn back? Like... like transfiguring a well-fed mouse, and having it run in a wheel?"

Master Blake nodded. "I can't see why that would be a problem."

"And if you attach a dynamo to the wheel? The generated energy would be non-magical... right?"

There was a pause.

"I believe so," the wizard said finally. "There would have to be _extensive_ testing, and I would set at least the fifth degree of caution, but that idea might just work. I take it you're not thinking of actual mice?"

"No, that was just an example. If magic can violate conservation of energy, there are more effective methods. Like, can we directly create a battery to move that wheel? Or even better, what if you transfigure uranium, and use the nuclear energy to generate magic-free energy? We might just transition to completely sustainable energy overnight! And once the transfiguration wears off, you might even avoid nuclear waste – although I guess that gets into my theoretical question again." She paused. "Are you okay?"

Master Blake had blanched. "That's... I..." He took several deep breaths, then drew himself up into a rigid pose.

"On my authority as a Transfiguration Master, I must ask you to keep this idea quiet," he spoke, his tone suddenly firm. "Don't breathe a word of it to anyone but recognized authorities. Don't even write it down in your diary, or anywhere else that someone might find it. Is that acceptable?"

"Wha–" She stopped, suddenly noticing that a wand had appeared in his hand and his face was grim. The man had _seemed_ genial, but she was suddenly very aware that the one-researcher-at-a-time setup had placed her, alone and unarmed, in a room that had been warded against eavesdropping, with a man who had the power to do _anything_ to her, and make her forget it even happened.

She carefully refrained from making any threatening movements, and turned her voice calm and polite. "Why?"

The Transfiguration Master relaxed a little. "Because what you propose is _extremely_ dangerous, and yet very profitable. Profitable enough that I fear that, if this idea came out, someone would try it without the adequate precautions – especially since most Transfiguration Masters are not Muggleborns, and might be misled about the nature of splitting atoms. I'm not proposing to sink your idea; you're right, it _is_ worth finding out whether this can be done, and others might come up with the same idea. I promise that, if the Muggle government pays for it, we'll do those experiments. But we'll first need some experts from both worlds to design them, and it's going to require the absolute _highest_ degree of caution. A warded area in the desert with all possible protections magic can build is probably not going to be _enough_ , but if we can get away from earth –"

Madelaine just stared at him. He looked less intimidating now, but positively insane. "Aren't you exaggerating a little?"

"No," he said simply. "I believe it is you who is underestimating the risks. Which is why I set those rules. I need you to take this very seriously."

"But splitting atoms isn't _that_ dangerous," she explained. "We've done it in the lab, when technology wasn't anywhere _near_ as good as it is now. Even major tests of fully developed nuclear weapons don't use _that_ kind of caution."

"Nuclear physics might not be all that dangerous," he conceded. "Transfiguration, however, is."

She could only stare.

"Did you think I was just being careful to frustrate you?" He asked softly.

It was hard to find her voice. "You teach this to _children_."

"Learning the skill young maximizes your potential," he shrugged helplessly. "So if we _didn't_ teach the children, some of them would find a way to learn regardless. By giving them proper instruction instead, they at least learn the techniques along with the right way to think about them. More advanced techniques are only taught at N.E.W.T. level to those who have proved themselves on the easier material, and are either left out of books or buried in jargon. And then, of course, most people who foolishly dabble without true understanding tend to get themselves killed quickly. It takes an _intelligent_ dabbler to cause true devastation, and _those_ can usually be taught the wisdom to refrain. At least, with a competent teacher."

There was silence for a while, as she parsed the implications.

"You have my word," she promised eventually. "But let me get this straight. For all that transfiguration is accessible to every kid with a wand, it is strictly more dangerous than nuclear physics and completely not understood on a theoretical level – so you can't even make solid predictions about it, which only exacerbates the danger."

"Correct. Are you starting to wish for the return of witch burnings yet?"

"Oh no, I'm starting to get excited. I _really_ want to study the theory now. But I suspect that, if this is the safety standard I should keep in mind, it's going to take _years_ before we will get to do those nuclear experiments."

The wizard only nodded.

"So in the short term, we might want to stick to less sophisticated variations of the running mouse theme... maybe a flywheel? Or..." She stared into space, If the magical energy required to transfigure items only depended on the source and target size...

"Can you transfigure against gravity?"


	6. First Witch on the Moon

**FIRST WITCH ON THE MOON**

* * *

With one small step – that was also, in its own way, a giant leap – Aurora Sinistra became the first witch on the moon.

 _Experiment 1: success. I can still function, and I still feel my magic._

She looked out at the stars, so much easier to see here than from earth, and she looked at the beautiful vision of the earth itself. She had seen it through the rocket's window, but it was even better in the flesh. Still, her time here was costly. Perhaps if Granger's mission could be approved, she would be able to come and back and walk – or bounce, for that matter – around at her leisure.

Tom, the Muggle astronaut who'd left the rocket after her, passed her the plastic box. Carefully, very carefully, she opened it, revealing a set of squirming creatures. Flobberworms: utterly boring creatures which, however, functioned on magic rather than oxygen, which made them so useful in various potions. Flobberworms could survive in extreme environmental circumstances and, indeed, seemed perfectly fine in the less-than-comfortable conditions of the moon. She quickly closed the box again to avoid any of the creatures escaping and contaminating the biosphere; Tom took it from her hands.

 _Experiment 2: success. Magical creatures still seem to function._

This was crucial; the scientists had suggested that perhaps with the moon's gravity being lower, its magical field may be affected, which could have disastrous consequences for phoenixes. But now, it seemed unlikely to be a problem. The overly-careful Muggles in the space agency probably still wouldn't allow young Miss Granger to phoenix-travel here, but they might be prepared to ask one of the adult phoenix owners to take the risk. That, or the next mission would involve some of the higher magical creatures, or magical races. It didn't seem likely that any House Elves or Goblins would be interested, but perhaps a centaur would be. For all the idiosyncrasies of their culture – their inclination towards isolation, their tendency to speak in mysteries – she suspected that members of the race of stargazers would love to be here.

But that was for later. She pressed a button on her suit, and her wand dropped into her hand. She waved it in the movements she had carefully practiced, compensating for the bulkiness of the suit with just the right twitches. " _Lumos!_ "

Nothing happened.

Aurora looked at her wand, her heart beating rapidly. _It can't be._ She couldn't just have failed that, could she? Quickly, she tried again.

" _Lumos!_ "

Once more, the spell didn't take. But surely she hadn't been turned into a Muggle – no, she could still feel her magic. But – now that she realized it – the magic wasn't flowing into her wand as it usually would.

 _Like a dead stick in her hand._

No. No, that still wasn't right. It _wasn't_ a dead stick; she _did_ feel the connection... but it was different, weaker. And her magic didn't respond to her words and movements at all. Was this how a Squib would feel?

She controlled her breathing. It had to be just the location. Apparently those Muggles were wiser than she knew when they designed these experiments. There was no way it had affected her magical core permanently. Perhaps it had broken the _wand_ , or maybe spells didn't work, but this was _not_ going to be permanent. There was absolutely no reason to believe that it was, especially since her magic felt exactly as it always had. She was just caught up in the standard pureblood rhetoric. But still...

 _Experiment 3: failure. Spellcasting does_ not _work._

She really wanted to get back to earth now, to see whether it was true, that she really hadn't lost anything, but there were two more experiments she had to do. She bit down on the little potion sack in her mouth, and felt the taste of the _Draught of Peace_ on her tongue. Immediately she became calmer and felt the characteristic warm touch on her mind. It wasn't much, because she hadn't been expected to actually _need_ the potion, but it helped. And it was a good sign, too.

 _Experiment 4: success. Potions still seem to work._

Time for the last experiment, magical artifacts. Tom was already holding out the pack of self-shuffling cards to her. He should be able to test this himself, but they had all agreed that only the magical person would interact directly with magic on this trip, to limit the risks to the other astronauts. She carefully took the cards out of the pack, and made the movement to initiate the shuffling. Again, absolutely nothing happened. It would seem like neither spells nor artifacts could be used away from the earth.

 _Well damn._


	7. The Defense Professor

**THE DEFENSE PROFESSOR**

* * *

"Hello Professor Riddle."

The specter raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't think I've heard that one before. How much time has passed?"

"It's the 27th of August, still 1992."

"I see. And have you managed to destroy the world yet?"

"Nope. Are you going to ask me that every time I summon you?"

"Quite possibly." The specter shrugged. "How many times have you summoned me now?"

Harry frowned. "This is only the second time." Dumbledore had been adamant that Harry should not lightly talk to the soul of Voldemort. Thinking about it, Harry had reluctantly agreed; spending a good ten minutes considering all the ways he could accomplish malicious goals just by talking had significantly increased his threat assessment of the stone. That was also why there were several hidden cameras around, Hermione was watching from a different room to step in should he find himself getting manipulated, and Dumbledore was on call, _just in case_. "You don't remember?"

The former Defense Professor looked liked he'd bitten something unpleasant. "Bits and pieces. I remember you calling me before, but those recollections are too hazy to be sure. It _is_ most inconvenient."

 _It'll certainly make it harder for him to manipulate us,_ Slytherin suggested.

 _Assuming he isn't lying,_ inner Moody pointed out.

Ravenclaw sighed. _Need_ _I say it?_

 _Experimenting would require repeatedly summoning someone, probably with some time in between,_ Hufflepuff said quietly. _What about leaving the death at rest?_

 _That's a Dumbledore thing,_ Slytherin shrugged. _We can ignore his silly qualms._

 _But he_ is right, Hufflepuff objected. _A single occasion to say goodbye and finish off your affairs is one thing, but it seems cruel to repeatedly call someone back in a form that doesn't allow them to interact with the world and even gives them mental impairments. We shouldn't do that unless it's necessary._

 _Professor McGonagall would probably be happy to help,_ Gryffindor piped up. _But remember that we can't trust Riddle no matter_ what _comes out of those experiments_.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry said, not sure whether he meant it. "But I have a question about your life _before_ death, which I hope you will answer."

"And why exactly should I help you?"

Harry sighed irritatedly. "We've been over this last time. The more you genuinely help me, the more willing I am to ask you for help, which gives you a greater chance to stop me before I do something stupid that would end up destroying humanity and thereby preventing your eventual resurrection."

Riddle shot him a calculating glare, then shrugged. "Oh, I suppose. What do you want to know?"

"Your curse on the defense professorship. Hogwarts is being rebuilt on a different location. Will that be enough to get rid of the curse?"

"Hmmmm, no, I don't think so."

Harry glared at him. "Then... how _can_ we get rid of it? The current Hogwarts generation may be moderately well-prepared after your teaching, but it would be really nice to not have the same issue again in seven years."

Riddle smirked. "I suppose it would, at that. Tell me, Mr. Potter, if you imagine yourself in my place, how would _you_ have crafted the curse?"

Harry frowned, thinking. "Well, the _obvious_ thing would have been to place some kind of nasty curse on whoever the Hogwarts wards recognize as the Defense Professor – with Salazar Slytherin's knowledge, you can probably do that. But that would be a little _too_ obvious, and Professor Dumbledore said the curse still activated when he renamed the course to Defensive Magic for two years."

"Do not try to reverse-engineer the existing, Mr. Potter," the specter said contemptuously. "I asked how _you_ would do it."

 _If he were still alive, there's no way I would tell him something like_ that. Harry thought. _It might give him ideas._

 _Technically, while he was still alive, you_ did _tell him things like that all the time,_ his inner critic pointed out.

 _Fine, fine,_ Harry grumbled. _At least he's dead now, and this is something he obviously already thought through._

"I'd consider possible attacks. The obvious thing the Headmaster could do was to rename the course. Or even leave Defense Against the Dark Arts as an existing course, perhaps hire some dying volunteer or a ghost to be sure, and add a new course called calligraphy whose teacher just happens to give interesting instruction."

"Or employ Binns in the position and hire an Auror to teach 'history', yes," Riddle said dryly.

"So if that shouldn't work... No, if you want your curse not to be fooled by the Binns swap you couldn't just curse DADA along with all courses added after the curse was placed. And there's also the possibility to just not swear the Defense Professor into the wards... So if you want to get whoever is really teaching Defense, you'd check the person in the castle who's doing, or being close to, most defensive magic."

"A good idea," Riddle conceded. "However, a curse like that wouldn't catch incompetent professors. the ones who don't do much teaching."

"Wouldn't that accomplish your goals anyway?"

"Arguably, yes, although I'd rather not have an incompetent stuck in the position I was hoping to claim for myself when necessary. However, more problematically, if incompetent teachers were left untouched while the ones doing their job properly were cursed, it would point the Headmaster to exactly this situation, which would make it easier to trace the curse."

"And even if he couldn't, he could just get a dying volunteer to be near regularly scheduled amounts of defensive magic, I suppose."

"Quite. Or he might hire a defense professor who is never actually in class; you can do a lot over a distance, using for instance communication mirrors, especially if classes are supervised by a rotating group of assistants."

"Right. So you want to catch whoever is doing, or supposed to be doing, the Defense Professor's job, no matter what their job title is..." He drew a blank. Magic _was_ intent-based in many ways, true, but for all he'd learned so far, it wasn't _that_ intent-based. You couldn't put human-level understanding in a spell. "Honestly, this is starting to sound like the best way to do it would just be to manually curse whoever is teaching each year. Wait, is that what you did?" _That_ would _explain why neither Dumbledore nor any of the curse-breakers he hired has ever been able to find it..._

Riddle smiled at that. "You're getting close. But while I'm sure it would have been amusing for a few years, I _do_ have better things to spend my time on. Besides that, I couldn't enter the castle without detection, and it's not so easy to curse someone from a distance."

"So... you got someone else to do it. Someone who's already there." He gasped as the obvious answer clicked into place. "A House Elf. There's hundreds of them in the castle, they stay there for all their lives, and nobody ever pays attention to them."

"And when Hogwarts was destroyed," Tom Riddle said softly. "the dottery old fool saved all the Elves, didn't he?"

"He did," Harry groaned. Not that Harry disagreed with that decision. "So is that the answer then? You put a House Elf under the Imperius?"

"Not the Imperius Curse, no. It interferes with creativity. But House Elves were created to do as they are told, and the Hogwarts Elves are not bound to any individual, but rather to the school. I merely needed to... _convince_ an Elf that creatively making sure that something bad would happen to the Defense Professor every year was in the school's interests. I do believe the Elf ended up quite mad, but Dumbledore would never send him away regardless."

 _And a House Elf has access to all the teachers' food, to their laundry, to their mail; they can get into your room while you're sleeping without alarm. It wouldn't be at all hard to administer all kinds of interesting potions over a period of months, or otherwise to find secrets you don't want people to know and leak them in the most disastrous way possible. And given that the Elf would have months to plan and prepare, it wouldn't even be that hard to make it seems like an accident each time._

"I guess you got him to back off last year?"

"I made it clear that something bad was going to happen to 'Professor Quirrell' without his help, yes. Anyway, if you get rid of the Elf, the so-called 'curse' will disappear and that should be the end of your Defense Against the Dark Arts problems. Unless the Headmaster practices his usual amount of judgment in the hiring decision, of course – I reject the blame if he sees fit to appoint another half-giant, werewolf or escaped convict to the position."

"He mentioned an Auror, actually. One of the former Azkaban guards. Hermione says he's really nice, although I'm not sure I can believe that."

Riddle shrugged. "So, was that all, then?"

"That was the main thing for now. Although I would still like that list of things you did to avoid the apocalypse."

Riddle smirked. "You want a _list_? Well then, I hope you brought a large amount of parchment."


	8. Wise Old Wizard

**WISE OLD WIZARD**

* * *

The air shimmered before Hermione's eyes, and suddenly the rough outline of a man appeared, lying beneath a transparent cloak.

"Come..." spoke a whisper as soft as the wind. Harry moved aside from where he'd been standing, so that Hermione could move directly into Ignotus Peverell's line of vision. She took a deep breath, and briefly touched Xare's warm body for comfort. Harry had described the pain of Peverell's testing, and she wasn't looking forward to copying that experience, but she understood that it was needed. She stepped forward, met the ancient man's eyes, and braced herself.

Instead, a gentle touch brushed her mind, and her thoughts started slipping as she suddenly recalled half-forgotten memories. _Legilimency? Would that be enough?_

 _Yes,_ a voice sounded in her mind, speaking in the ancient English she had spent hours and hours learning in the past three months. _For you it will suffice._

She felt a little embarrassed as she realized that he had answered her private thoughts, which she hadn't meant as a question... But then, she had been prepared to give him access to her every memory, hadn't she?

 _Indeed; you should not feel embarrassed for what I see._ And still the feeling that some presence was rifling around in her head continued.

 _Why are you doing it like this?_ She consciously thought. _Or why couldn't you do it for Harry?_

 _He is an Occlumens, and was talented enough to have convinced my brother to send him here, despite his age. I could not take the risk of his fooling me. Besides, I do not believe he would willingly have dropped_ all _his barriers; there were things he would not have me know._ You _, however, have never learned to guard your mind beyond the theory, and your phoenix would object if you purposely hid any darkness in your past.  
_

 _But surely it's easier on your voice to speak directly to the mind?_

 _Indeed it is, but your friend needed all the help of his translation charms last time. Now,_ the rifling stopped. _You have read the books I selected for you?_

 _Yes,_ she answered. Not that it had been easy. The books were all hand-written, in the old English language using inconsistent spelling and sometimes sloppy script. That was why she'd started spending a lot of time learning ancient English: she could have tried using the unreliable translation spells, or followed Harry's example and asked Helena to translate, but she preferred working at her own pace. Then, of course, she'd had to cross-reference most of the historical works with known Muggle and magical history and legends, and in between that mountain of work, the large amount of summer homework the teachers had assigned on learning that Hogwarts was being rebuilt, and her summer job at the BSA, she'd hardly had any time left for eating and sleeping. That was until she'd been called to the Ministry, and Amelia Bones presented her with a Time-Turner, courtesy of some nagging by Harry. With six extra hours each day (well, four _waking_ hours), she'd breezed through the rest of the books, and even ended up scanning the ones on soul magic which Harry had been assigned. _Wait, are you still seeing everything I think?_

There was an amused chuckle in her head. _Yes, but don't try to stop it. I ask a question, you think of relevant facts – it's quite informative. You really do have an amazing mind, to achieve so much in so little time._

 _Thank you... But I don't really understand_ why _you wanted me to read those works. Harry's books had a clear purpose: they explain soul magic, which he'll need for his plans on resurrection. I don't know what I was supposed to learn from_ my _books._

 _Wisdom,_ Ignotus whispered in her mind. _Your friend Harry has decided to dedicate his life to research, at least for the foreseeable future: he has declared himself willing to work on the project of immortality, to the exclusion of other issues, like my brothers and I once did. Thus, I gave him the knowledge to prepare him for this path. You, however, will walk a very different path. Those who must heed the phoenix's call cannot afford to be so single-minded. When evil calls, you will answer. And for someone as studious as you, I expect that you will learn everything you can, not for the sake of knowledge itself but to help you improve the world. It is certain that you will be a very powerful witch some day, at least if you survive to reach the height of your power. And when you have the power to make measurable changes to the world,_ _a thorough understanding of its history is instrumental in setting a course.  
_

That... could he actually _know_ all that? Or was he trying to drive her into a certain direction?

There was another chuckle. _Perhaps both. I_ would _like to see you become a powerful force of good, doing those things which I am no longer able to do. For what I saw in my apprentice's mind some months ago, and what I now see in yours, you have intelligence, courage, morality, and both great wisdom and power for your age. If you wish it, you will easily be the parallel of your teacher Dumbledore in time, and with your greater understanding of the miracles of the Muggle world, you may well come to surpass him. I will help you achieve what greatness you can, if you wish it. But then, you should indeed choose your own direction, I should not manipulate you into what I want to see. So what is it that_ you _want to do with your life?_

 _I'm only twelve,_ she protested almost automatically. _But I guess... I'm not saying I want to do this all my life, but I'm really enjoying the research I've been doing with the BSA and I love the idea of going into space_ _– and I know that, once the plans get going, Xare and I could do a lot of good for humanity there. They're already talking about deploying solar power satellites in such a way as to give the whole world access to basically unlimited free energy, sustainable completely without magic or environmental impact, although that will take... a while, decades even in the best estimates._ It wasn't quite the same as _directly_ fighting war, corruption, poverty and discrimination, but ultimately it might have similar results, right? She hoped it would, at least. Although thinking about it, the British government might try to create a monopoly... they _would_ want to sell their spare energy to other countries. Would that mean denying access to the poor countries who needed it most? But surely, if they needed her to create the technology or put it in place, she'd have a say in how it was used...

 _And that is what I wanted for you,_ Ignotus observed. _That you recognize when new developments can work both to the good and the bad, and do what you can to steer them in the right direction. That is why it is important for you to learn history and philosophy._

 _And economy and psychology, I suppose?_ Hermione added. _I guess I'm going to be busy._

 _Well, you have time_ _– I never meant for you to complete everything I gave you in a mere three months! Study at your own pace, and do take time for other things. In fact, if you can, learn arithmancy and runic magic. They provide the path to the creation of minor spells and artifacts respectively, which is useful in many endeavors._

 _Okay. I'm sure Dumbledore won't mind if I take the electives a year earlier._

 _Hmmm,_ the man agreed. She sensed that he was rifling through her memories again, so she waited patiently. _I'm not sure I really understand this idea of going into the heavens. I guess it's useful for some of those Muggle things I probably will not understand for some years?_

 _Somewhat, I guess,_ Hermione agreed. _And aside from helping with all kinds of technologies, research in space might help us understand how the world really works_ _. Most importantly, it might open the way for colonization: humans moving to other worlds. If there's one thing I learned from your historical accounts, it's that the world is fragile: Atlantis was lost in time, magical Italy was completely destroyed, the Roman empire fell because of that, several other Muggle civilizations ended due to war or sometimes just bad luck... If humans and the other races live on different planets, then at least nothing can wipe out all life at once_ _– and with artifacts like the resurrection stone, it might even be possible to recover from such a disaster. Although I'm not sure how much of a chance this has, since magic_ _– at least human magic_ _– doesn't seem to work away from earth._

 _What?!_ The voice sounded shocked, and suddenly she felt a pressure of heavy searching in her mind. She helpfully recalled the outcome of Professor Sinistra's experiments, and the plans for next week's expedition.

 _You have not yet gone there, have you_? The voice sounded urgent in her mind.

 _Not yet. My parents insist that an older Phoenix owner should go first. I'll probably be allowed when I'm thirteen_ _– so in three weeks._

There was a genuine relief in the presence in her mind. _Good. I shall teach you a spell to detect the presence of a soul. Use that first to test your teacher. It is fundamental that you do not leave earth until you have confirmed that doing so will not harm your soul._

 _My soul?_ She stared in confusion, as a vision of the dead look in the eyes of a Dementor victim replayed itself in her mind.

 _Not like that,_ Ignotus thought gently. _The soul is tied to the consciousness. The Dementor's Kiss removes both_ _, and you have seen how people_ _without consciousness cease to function. However, it_ is _possible to function_ _without a soul. Merfolk, for instance, only possess consciousness, as do animals. I created this spell for testing purposes, but I fear it is essential now._

 _Why?_ The worry in Ignotus's voice was contagious. Surely Sinistra hadn't really –?

 _Because what you have learned is a fundamental insight: that_ runes _do not work. Runes are clearly man-made, and I have always suspected that the same holds for the soul. I do not know about spells, but if manmade magic stops functioning away from earth, then the soul_ could _be damaged._ He paused, then added: _it's probably not the case. But even if your soul is untouched from just_ going _there, I fear for the souls of those who have died away from earth. I certainly wouldn't want to risk a child being born there._

Hermione swallowed. _So. Colonization would be a bad idea, then._

 _I do not know. Tread very carefully._

 _I will._

 _But now, let us get started. Before you leave today, there are some spells I wish you to learn. The spell to detect a soul, of course, but also others. Versatile spells, which should remain in the right hands. Although I fear that you will not be able to cast most of them yet._

Hermione wondered briefly why she was being taught spells she wouldn't be able to cast yet. Was he planning on dying?

 _I lasted quite a few centuries, I have no intention to change that situation now,_ Peverell assured her dryly. _However, I_ will _be unavailable for months or even years at a time, as Elixir of Life is limited, and you may need some of them unexpectedly. For example, there is a charm of manipulation, which allows you to bend a person's will, and which I suspect you will be strong enough to cast in one or two years._

 _Woah! That sounds an awful lot like the Imperius Curse!_

 _No, it does not allow you to control them, merely put them in a state of mind where they are more... amenable to your suggestions. Also, anyone can learn to_ _resist the spell, with experience, although of course given the apparent obscurity of the spell in the current time, very few will have such experience now.  
_

 _I still don't like that idea at all! I don't think I want to learn something like that._

 _And_ because _you are uncomfortable about it, I know that it's safe to teach you. Don't worry; you might never need it. I just fear that you will sometimes not be able to avoid war, and I would spare you the burden of having no choice but to kill or be killed._

 _Well... Okay then. Maybe._

 _You're wondering whether I'm corrupting you. I doubt I could, but I agree that it is wise to be wary. Another powerful spell I wanted to give you today is a spell of protection_ _– for yourself and others. Its only danger is that it can drain your magic fully, to the point of serious injury or death if you overtax yourself in too short a time.  
_

 _Euhm..._

 _Spells which were lost were mostly so for good reason,_ Ignotus gently pointed out. _Those powerful spells which are both safe and harmless are typically taught as a matter of routine; the spells which are not passed lightly tend to have an edge. In this case, because it is dangerous. But I do not believe that it is_ too _dangerous. If you start practicing this young, you will learn your limits and expand them, thus improving your adult potential._

 _Like transfiguration?_ She supplied.

 _That's a good parallel, yes. Well then... let's get started._


	9. September 1

**SEPTEMBER 1**

* * *

 _September 1992._

Michael looked at the faces collected before him. A few were eager, most skeptical. Some were looking downright repulsed. Many of the "purebloods" in the class were not at all pleased to be taught by a Muggle, and were unlikely to be receptive to the material in the first place. They were reluctant high-school students, forced to be here, rather than the mostly willing college students he usually taught.

 _Why exactly am I doing this again_?

He could have just gone back to his work. The freedom of information regarding magic had not brought all that many changes to the average person's daily life yet. He could ignore the whole thing, go back to his research, and teach people who actually _wanted_ to be taught. He could be rid of magic, mostly, live like a normal person. But he couldn't go back to his old life, because one very important part of it was missing.

There was still hope. Petunia's body was perfectly preserved, and Harry was convinced that he could bring his mother back. But as it was, that just put Michael in a strange limbo state where he could neither move on, nor back to what he had had. He didn't want to take up his usual routine, only to come home to an empty house every night. For the sake of his sanity, he needed a change.

That was why he had requested a one-year sabattical, and accepted Professor Dumbledore's job offer. This year, all classes would follow the same curriculum, which would save him preparation time and leave him with plenty of leisure to study magic. Just because he was taking a one-year break didn't mean he was going to put his career on hold, after all. Little fondness thought he felt for magic, it was clear that funding opportunities in the near future would be significantly better for those who understand its basics. Why should he not be one of the pioneers of magical bio-chemistry?

The clock ticked over to 10:15. Michael cleared his throat.

"Welcome, all, to your first class of Science and Rationality."

* * *

Li beamed at the class before him. He knew he had some enormous boots to fill, but at least he wasn't secretly the shade of Lord Voldemort, which surely counted in his favor.

"Good morning, class! I am Professor Xiaoguang Li, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You may address me by my first name, but I _will_ take points for pronouncing it incorrectly."

He was going to enjoy this.

* * *

Lisa Fournier looked at the class of English students. She hadn't expected to land a job as a teacher – her subject of mastery was well-covered in France, and, despite the lack of people with any grasp of the subject across the channel, the position had not been expected to come available for some centuries. Well, she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Welcome to your first class of History! Yes, that is _history_ , not _history of magic_. This semester we will cover the origins of earth, early civilizations such as ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt, China, Ireland and Greece, and we will end with known history and common speculations about Atlantis. Next semester we will move on the Roman Empire, celtic and germanic culture, towards the early Middle Ages..."


	10. A Free Elf

**A FREE ELF**

* * *

Dobby was a free Elf.

For as long as he could remember, he had wondered about freedom – guiltily. He didn't even know, exactly, when he'd admitted the wish to himself. But over the years it had only grown, almost to the point of pain.

Dobby knew he was crazy. Elves did not wish for freedom. Elves existed to serve. An Elf without work, without a master, was... nothing.

And Dobby _did_ love working. He had no desire to do anything else; what did leisure time even _mean_? It was the Elf Bond that galled him. His master had complete authority over _everything_ in his life. If his master wanted to let off steam by using the Cruciatus Curse on him, he had to take it without complaint. If his master told him to see to his own punishment for minor transgressions, he had no choice but to comply, to the point where he was constantly nursing injuries and could only barely stop himself from ramming his head into the wall for having rebellious _thoughts_. If his master wanted him to poison the unattended cup of the wife of a political opponent, he had to do it, no matter what he himself might feel for the people involved.

Then, after years and years of silent longing, Dobby's chance had finally come. The Great and Noble Harry Potter had talked to the non-magical humans, and among many other things, they had made the wizards agree to free any Elf who asked for it. Freedom was within his reach; all he'd have to do was to pop to the new Department of Magical Races in the Ministry of Magic, and they'd summon his Master and force him to give Dobby clothes there and then.

And yet he'd stalled. With his old Master he wouldn't have hesitated a second, but the young Master was _not_ like his father. He didn't kill people, or play nasty political games – at least not yet. He didn't even visit needless cruelties on the Elf, and had gone so far as to tell him to "stop constantly beating yourself up for no good reason, it's distracting". He was still likely to snarl at the Elf when he noticed him, or otherwise act dismissively, but if the old Lord Malfoy had been more like his son, Dobby would probably never have come to desire freedom so much.

But the wish _had_ grown, and it hadn't left with Lucius Malfoy's death. It was just that, with the immediate prospect of actually getting his wish, the thought terrified him too. He dreaded the idea of not having a master; what would he do with himself?

That was until he'd heard of the Open Call for Creatures.

The advertisement had been placed in the human newspapers, but it was spoken in whispers among the Elves. _Members of all non-human magical races are invited to apply to the British Space Agency for research purposes._ What they wanted the volunteers to do was potentially dangerous work, and the more controllable magic the applicant had, the better. An Elf would be perfect; but most of the Elves were far more interested in serving their masters, and if an Elf was ordered by their master to go, the BSA would be bound to reject such a non-volunteer.

He had gone to the address listed in the papers and volunteered. Then he had found his Master and asked for clothes. The young boy had looked shocked, but – surprisingly – perhaps a little relieved as well. Had Dobby reminded him of his father too much? Whatever the reason, he had not protested, but simply passed Dobby a sock.

And now, here he was, among human astronauts, on his first lunar mission. He was to test whether House Elf magic still worked, and whether being away from earth's magical field would hurt him or otherwise have strange effects. It was entirely possible that he would die, but so far (he thought, as he stared at the stars outside the rocket) everything seemed to go well. And if _he_ could survive there without ill effects, the humans would finally have enough security to take the risk of sending a phoenix. From there, the possibilities were endless.

Dobby was a free Elf. He would no longer serve a single human. He would serve all of humanity.


	11. Moon Phoenix

**MOON PHOENIX**

* * *

"Okay, Xare. You see the place, right? Go there, stay just for a bit, and then come back. But if you're in trouble, get back here immediately, okay?"

"Caw." It sounded a little disgruntled – the phoenix did _not_ like going places without her master – but she would do it.

"Then go. And come back in one piece!"

With a burst of flame, Xare disappeared.

Hermione waited, her heart beating rapidly. Less than two seconds later, the fire-bird appeared on the big screen ahead, wings flapping.

This was the final test. If Xare was alright on the moon, Hermione herself would finally be allowed to go. She had done all kinds of experiments, and she'd been put through a version of basic astronaut training. Her space suit was specifically fitted for her and its life-support system was tested to withstand magic. There was, right now, a rocket on the moon, with a spare place to take her back should anything go wrong. Professor Sinistra had gone on the previous mission, and verified that witches could withstand space like normal astronauts. Hermione had used Ignotus's spell, and verified that astronauts did not lose their soul. Testing with the resurrection stone had indicated that even for those who had died in space, the soul was unharmed. Everything suggested it was perfectly safe for her to go.

"Xare is being here," sounded a squeaky voice over the computer. Dobby, the little House Elf who had volunteered to go along on this mission as, basically, a guinea pig. He was a creature of magic who could reason and speak; if anything was causing problems for magical creatures, he would notice. But he hadn't experienced any problems; even his magic worked perfectly. Better than human magic for that matter. He hadn't tried anything potentially risky yet, like Apparition, but he would start experimenting with that the moment she was there and able to quickly bring him to a hospital should things go wrong. (And hadn't it been hard to get the excited Elf to agree not to take unnecessary risks. He clearly didn't value his life very much.)

There was a burst of flame, and Xare appeared before her, looking quite happy. On the screen, she flapped her wings a last time, then burst into flame and left. Xare had come faster than the signal; this strongly suggested that phoenixes were not constrained by the speed of light. They'd analyze the exact time of disappearance and appearance using a computer, of course, but it matched the tentative hypothesis from the testing data they'd already acquired on earth.

" _Caw?_ "

"Yes, Xare," she beamed, looking at the commander, who nodded at her. "Let's go."


	12. The Good

**THE GOOD  
**

* * *

 _October 1992._

"Good morning, Mr. Kaiton."

"Good morning, Madam Healer."

"You sound quite cheerful," the woman smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not at all," he beamed. "It was absolute, horrendous torture for hours on end. Even worse than regrowing the tissue yesterday." He carefully wiggled his fingers. "Seems to have worked though."

"You know, my usual patients aren't quite so happy about taking Skelegro."

"Yeah, well, they're wizards, ain't they?" She nodded. "They take it for granted. Me, I've had to do without my right arm for five years. I never thought I'd get it _back_. That's... I'll take all the pain you can dish out for that. Do you have any idea just how many things need two hands?"

"Quite a few, I imagine." She gave him a long look. "I never really thought about it that way, but I suppose it must be a very different experience for Muggles who never realized that a cure existed."

"Totally. But you know, even knowing about magic, it wasn't like I could hope to _get_ it. There's nowhere near enough magic to cure everyone, and me, I'm just a ex-metal worker living on benefits, there's no way I could afford to pay for this! I wouldn't have had a chance if it weren't for the NHS lottery. And with that, not one in a thousand people like me end up getting help. I'd be an absolute prat to be ungrateful for any of this."

"I see your point. But for a happy thought, problems like yours are going to be a lot more rare in the future." She smiled as she started running her wand over his arm. "It takes a relatively high effort to _regrow_ limbs – at least for Muggles where the potions need to be guided along – but it's the work of a few minutes to stop them from getting amputated in the first place, if all that's wrong is something like a squashed arm. A number of people are working on an initiative to enable Muggle Healers to inform available Magic Healers for specific high-urgency issues. We're using the trial run as a training tool for Healers, actually. Even a first-year apprentice can handle many of the emergency room problems that typically get Muggles killed or handicapped."

"I hadn't heard about it..." Peter smiled contently. That sort of precaution would definitely have helped him. Yes, the world was getting better by the day.


	13. And the Bad

**AND THE BAD**

* * *

Annika glared at the outlandishly dressed man as he casually strolled to the wine shelves and pocketed five bottles of high-quality vintage. The man utterly ignored her as he added a number of fine cheeses to his bag, summoned several bars of chocolate from a distant aisle with a flick of his wand, and finally disappeared with a sharp _crack_.

Ever since the secrecy of the magical world had been lifted, life had taken a decided turn for the worse. Oh, it had _looked_ promising at first, when that kid from England had given his big speech. The people in Sweden were not so fortunate, though. It had only taken two days before their own wizards appeared on TV, making it clear that magical Fennoscandia was not governed like magical Britain was, and that its citizens had no intention of bowing to the Muggles. They had spoken the word with a sneer, as though it were a deep insult. Instead, the normal, _Muggle_ , politicians had quickly negotiated a pact of non-interference with the wizards. Normal people and their government would not interfere with the magical side of the country in any way, and in exchange, wizards would leave them alone.

But they hadn't.

Once everything had calmed down, wizards (and witches, she supposed) were seen in the open more and more. But they didn't act like they were guests in the normal people's cities; they behaved as though they were the nobles and everyone else were serfs. The first time this wizard had come to take items from the shop, he had surprised everyone by just disappearing without paying. The second time, the shop owner had approached him, but the wizard had done something with his wand that had the man screaming in pain, and left him with hallucinations for days. They hadn't bothered him since, but they all felt the loss in their paychecks as the shop had to recoup its losses somehow or go bankrupt.

Nor was this wizard the only one. There were talks of thefts, of people getting covered in boils for "showing disrespect", or disappearing altogether... Lately, there'd been quite a few tales of young women who had found themselves at work or school in the morning with no memory of the previous night. None of those stories appeared in the national newspapers or on television, but they were printed in local magazines. Or, more commonly, repeated in hushed whispers.

The police didn't do anything. They might investigate complaints, but they had been given strict instructions to simply forward their conclusions and leave the magical "Aurors" to police their own kind. When Annika had pressed them for action, the senior officer had explained that they genuinely had no options: they had neither weapons nor knowledge to deal with wizards, and the national police absolutely refused to support interference with magic. The politicians didn't even acknowledge that there was a problem.

Then, in the last month, international channels had been removed from the standard TV package, _supposedly_ due to lack of interest, although everyone she knew had only started watching the BBC _more_ since the magic war. Meanwhile, the national news was showing fewer and fewer updates about foreign magical advances. The country's borders were still open, but she suspected that this was only a matter of time.

Annika wasn't stupid; she could see what was happening. There was no way that not a single party would have objected to the current arrangement; at the very least some populist idiot should have cast a throwaway-vote just to be contrary. But that little girl from Britain had talked about memory-altering spells; couldn't those be used to make a group of politicians _think_ that they had agreed? Could there be even easier spells to put the leaders and the press of a country under magical control? It seemed more than likely.

And the people were letting it happen. Even as their democracy was eaten away, as the offenses grew worse and their own options to fight it were steadily eroded, there was no uprising. The wizards were chipping away at the fundamental rights and freedoms of the common people until there was nothing left; and by the time the non-magical people realized that they should revolt, it would be too late to succeed.

Hopefully, the UN would intercede. Surely foreign wizards would understand what was happening? Or was the same thing happening everywhere?

If there was no help from outside to be had, there was still one point of hope, one group who might help. The Fennoscandian wizards, in their television appearance, had made it clear that they were a proud nation with a long history; and that, contrary to some nations, no new blood was admitted into their midst. But that girl from Britain _had_ been new blood – Muggleborn, she'd called it. If all those Muggleborns from Fennoscandia were not inducted into the magical world... were they still out there somewhere?


	14. Spellcrafting

**SPELLCRAFTING**

* * *

 _November 1992._

"So." the professor sat down next to where the two of them were studying in his chambers. "Does magic make more sense when you add in mathematics?"

" _Yes_ ," his son said empathetically. "Absolutely. It's actually kind of obvious, really."

Hermione nodded happily in agreement. "Isn't it amazing what you learn when you read _books_ and study what wise old wizards have already discovered?"

Harry shot her a glare, and she poked her tongue out. She'd earned the right to be a _little_ smug on this one.

"I'm hardly going to deny the usefulness of a Wise Old Wizard now that I'm apprenticed to Ignotus," he pointed out. "But in all fairness, we wouldn't have learned any of this until fifth year without him." He turned back to his father. "For some reason, the department of education in the Magical Ministry doesn't think that twelve-year-olds can learn mathematics yet, and the Arithmancy _elective_ doesn't even explain the theory of spellcrafting until after teaching all the relevant mathematical techniques."

"I think there's a reason for that, actually," Hermione said. "If they moved too fast, someone might start experimenting and get themselves killed."

"True," Harry said more soberly, and a little self-consciously. "I suppose someone might. Don't _worry_ , Dad. I'm doing theory _only_."

 _For now,_ Hermione thought, but she wisely held her tongue. The professor was looking alarmed enough as it was.

"The basic idea is very simple," Harry quickly continued. "See, obviously the universe doesn't have a special case for someone saying _Wingardium Leviosah._ "

His father nodded. "Obviously."

"Right. And the reason it requires such a strange spell is that floating an item the way that spell does isn't _basic_. There is a core effect of magic to lift an item using your own magic, canceling its gravity. There is a core effect to make an item go up. There is another effect to give an object a sort of nudge, changing tis direction, and one to regulate its speed. The spell doesn't just float an object, it applies the lifting effect, gives the object an initial push upwards, and then passes mental control over the speed and direction effects to the caster. It's a _computer program_."

"Without the computer I suppose," Harry's father said absently. "All that in such a short spell – that must be a very efficient language."

"It has to be," Hermione spoke up. "Longer spells, with more actions, put a large strain on the caster's wand – if the spell is too long, it'll just fail. But there are quite a few ways to combine effects and lift them towards actual spells. The art of spellcrafting is to find a way to efficiently combine basic effects into either a spell that's short enough to cast, or at least something that can be split up into _multiple_ spells. N.E.W.T. students usually don't get beyond a level where they can combine more than a few simple effects before pushing the limits of most wands, though."

"Limits which, incidentally, are a lot more lenient with the elder wand," Harry added.

"I see," the professor said. "That sounds intriguing. And how exactly can this get you killed?"

"Side effects," Hermione explained, as Harry groaned softly. "When you string a lot of magical effects together into a short spell, there's a chance that you trigger some effects that you hadn't been aiming for as well, more so if the spell is more compressed. In some cases it's even _unavoidable_ that you get side effects – in which case the goal is to avoid the more detrimental ones. The problem is that there is no way to directly list what side effects might occur – you can figure it out on an individual basis, but it's very easy to miss some possibilities. And that's where it gets dangerous."

"Hmmm. But I guess if they allow students to do it, you won't get a side effect that blows up the school when trying to do something simple."

"Right. There are a _lot_ of basic magical effects – tens of thousands, at least – but they're in connected groups. So if you try to make a charm to conjure floating lights, you might end up causing stench or maybe setting things on fire, but you won't accidentally blow yourself up. You _can_ blow yourself up when designing attack spells, but unless you involve specific power multiplier techniques, side effects still cannot cause you to blow up the school. And there is no realistic way to use these basic effects to do what Merlin would call 'true devastation', although that's a pretty high bar. It _is_ still possible to destroy an area of a few miles across or permanently mutilate someone's soul or something like that. Those effects aren't taught before Master level, though."

The professor twitched briefly, and turned to Harry. "Except you _are_ studying spells to manipulate the soul."

"Well yes," Harry conceded. "And there are quite a few effects in that group which can hurt the soul if misapplied, so any screwup could be disastrous. But I'm not _casting_ any of this. I'm just doing the maths, and right now, all the grub work of learning the possible effects, how they must be applied, and how they work together. I won't even think of casting anything before Ignotus approves it, and he's supposed to be an expert on this. I promise I'm not about to risk my magical mind-backup immortality device, Dad."

"I guess that's the best I can hope for." Professor Verres looked somewhat grim. "Although I do still worry. You know I'll never forgive myself for not stopping you if you do get hurt."

"Dad... It's not like you _could_ actually stop me. This is something I just have to do."

"I know," he sighed. And with your mother's life at stake... Well, I guess I'm selfish. But at least stay as careful as you can be." He shook himself, then glanced at Hermione with a hint of embarrassment. "Anyway. As I understood it, you managed to create a spell last year. But you didn't know any of this then, did you?"

"Sort of," Harry nodded. "But that's a bit of a different case. You see, the basic magical effects are necessarily limited in what you can do with them. But it's also possible to create _new_ effects, which do not necessarily have any limitations. It's not easy, though. To create a new effect requires a strong emotion or mental state, usually – but not always – a lot of magical power, and some unknown factor as to whether the universe allows it. You also typically have to create the effect as a part of a larger spell to be able to do anything with it. For example, the Patronus Charm uses seventeen different basic effects, while the core of the spell is powered by the emotion of ignoring death. I simply changed the powering emotion while keeping the rest of the spell unaltered. It really was more of a change than a new creation, but I guess it _did_ create a new magical effect, so it counts for the Interdict of Merlin. The Interdict makes sure people can only access emotion-fueled effects if they have learned them from a living mind."

"Inconvenient. Although necessary, I suppose. But how can there be so many 'powerful spells', then? I would imagine the emotional spectrum to not be _that_ large."

"It's a powerful emotion channeled towards a specific purpose," Harry explained. "The Killing Curse for instance doesn't require just _hatred_ – which could easily fuel many spells – but the explicit and absolute wish for someone to die. In the Patronus case, I used my abhorrence of death for the specific purpose of destroying a Dementor. The spell ended up doing a lot more, partially due to those other seventeen effects and partially because of what I was thinking and feeling at the time, but as you can imagine there are easily millions of emotion-driven goals."

"True," the professor nodded thoughtfully. "But I suppose this is all irrelevant to you – you only need to work with basic effects for now, right?"

"No, actually," Harry answered. "Ignotus taught me several soul-related emotion-fueled spells he and his brothers developed during their life – Cadmus, mostly; he was very emotional. He thinks I might be able to use one or more of the effects if I can isolate it from the rest of the spell. I haven't really gotten to the point of analyzing that, though."

"Do you need help? I'm sure we could easily get a mathematician to work with you. Or if it's all exact work, perhaps even a computer programmer?"

"There are already some Muggles studying arithmancy," Hermione observed. "A group in Spain got the security clearance last month – mixed mathematicians and computer scientists. And they _are_ planning to let a computer take over at least some of the work." She'd been very enthusiastic when hearing about that project, even if a small and rather silly part of her was sad that she couldn't join the group herself. But then, she didn't have the expertise, and even Time-Turners and phoenixes had their limits. "I don't think it would be easy to make a computer understand the consequences of combining certain magical effects, but it probably _could_ propose a design and tell you what side effects you risk. It would be an invaluable tool in spell design. But they have to attain a mastery in arithmancy before they can really get anywhere, so it'll probably be a few years at least."

"Which is longer than I can wait," Harry added. "I want to finish this before the Suspension Charms on Mum and McGonagall and the Hogwarts students wear out. And there's a lot of red tape to go through to involve Muggles in this sort of thing as well. Dumbledore and the rest of his lot are adamant that we cannot have competition-driven publication pressure, because that might lead to information being released that could be dangerous, yada yada, so it probably isn't worth the trouble. Besides, the main work for now isn't the mathematics, it's figuring out what to do and to avoid in the first place. And since there aren't _any_ soul-arithmancy experts alive except for Ignotus, it would probably be a bad idea to start on any actual spells before he okays the plans I have."

"Do you really think you'll get this done before the Suspension Charms wear out?" Hermione asked quietly. "Without resorting to spells that might be dangerous?"

"The Suspension should last for almost two years. And don't forget that, with the elder wand – and Dumbledore's own power – I have a _lot_ more leeway in the spell design than an arithmancer would normally have. That should make it possible to avoid most of the nastier side effects or the truly unexpected behavior. And with the philosopher's stone, and Ignotus's help... I really think it's not unrealistic that we might start resurrecting people in the summer."

"And you're sure he will help?" Professor Verres-Evans asked.

Harry just sighed, and shared a look with Hermione. "I think so. And I really hope so."


	15. Lord Black

**LORD BLACK**

* * *

 _December 1992._

Lesath carefully opened the door to the hospital room and slipped inside. There wasn't much need to act inconspicuous, really – he'd been _called_ here, after all. But the habits of a lifetime were hard to break, and he was nervous today, as he had no idea what this man wanted from him.

Regulus Black, sitting upright on the bed, looked him over coolly. "Lesath Lestrange?"

Lesath approached the bed and gave a short bow, as Professor Snape had instructed him. "Lord Black," he spoke neutrally.

"You may call me uncle. You're Bella's brat, aren't you?"

Lesath stiffened involuntarily. The man waved it off.

"I don't mean offense – that's just how I remember you. You were a baby last time I saw you. In fact, I remember you screaming a lot. Gave me headaches you did."

"I'm... sorry?"

Lord Black shrugged. "You were probably perfectly well-behaved most of the time – but I wouldn't remember, would I?" His voice turned quiet. "Your parents were there too, weren't they? Do they even know they had a kid?"

Lesath swallowed. "No."

His new uncle just nodded. "Cherish that. It means that even your irritating moments were good memories to them. At least you know your parents once loved you, which is far more than my brother and I ever had."

 _But they don't_ now _._ Lesath forced away the lump in his throat. He shouldn't allow this man to make him vulnerable.

"Why did you ask me to come here?"

Lord Black nodded approvingly. "To the point, I see. Well then... do you know why I asked to be given a trial?"

"To... get free, Lord B- uncle?"

The man snorted. "Hardly. I was caught as a Death Eater, which carries a life sentence. I had no realistic hope of being released. I still don't know how it happened, although I guess it has something to do with the court suddenly being overrun by _Muggles_."

Lesath stayed quiet at the obvious distaste in the man's voice. Lord Potter – Harry – had warned him about this. Lord Regulus Black was not truly evil; he had served the Dark Lord at his parents' behest, but had recoiled from the bloodshed and futilely tried to escape. However, he _was_ a true blood purist; Muggles, in his view, were little more than dogs. There was no reason to _hate_ them, but you wouldn't let dogs, or people raised by dogs, have any say in how normal people lived their lives. The large Muggle-murder he was famous for had largely been an accident: he cared so little about Muggles that he simply hadn't noticed that they were in the line of fire when he sent his most powerful blasting curse at his brother's murderer.

"No," Lord Black continued. "My sole purpose was to preserve the Black bloodline and restore the family honor. If I died without an heir, our line would end – and to add insult to injury, we'd be disgraced as followers of a madman. But if I was officially convicted, I could at least clear my brother's name and exercise the Lord's right to appoint an heir."

Lesath's heart suddenly started hammering wildly in his chest. Could the man be insinuating what he seemed to be insinuating? "But you were freed."

"True." His uncle shook his head sadly. "But my time is past. The Dementors took a lot from me; I lasted because I had a purpose, but I doubt I'll live long anymore, and I have no patience for a wife. Plus, I don't think I could adjust to the new politics anymore – something I hear _you_ are quite adept at. You've done well for yourself, haven't you?"

That was the first time someone had ever said _that_ to him. But surprisingly, there was even some truth in it – recently. Ever since his role on Dark Monday, people had looked at him differently. He'd spent the summer working for the DMLE – and occasionally for Muggle organizations – as a sort of messenger boy. He'd negotiated visiting rights with his parents. Children of "light" families were suddenly willing to talk to him, and there had been far less bullying this year. He'd even struck a tentative friendship with some of the other children who'd been in the makeshift Hogwarts orphanage, and those friendships had lasted in the school as well.

"I guess..."

Lord Black gave him a long look.

"You remind me a little of me, when I was your age." He smiled, briefly. "I'm offering to take you as my heir, Lesath, but you _can_ refuse. I do have other options. But I hope you'll accept, because you're the best. I've looked through your files."

"I'm just a bastard..."

"All the better – it means that the Black family has first claim on you. You're my closest family – you and your cousin Nymphadora, but she's a half-blood, quite attached to her family name, and I doubt she'd even be interested – she already has her life planned out. I think you will do well."

"I... What exactly does it _mean_?" He stalled.

"I'll give you the lessons in etiquette and politics my parents gave me. I'll expect you to behave in a manner befitting the Heir of a Noble and Most Ancient House. You'll make connections, learn to manage money, and when you're ready, you'll take up the Lordship." He paused briefly, staring away from Lesath.

"I will not repeat my parents' mistakes," he added softly. "I won't try to force my beliefs on you. I won't even choose a wife for you, provided you at least marry a witch – unless you ask me to, of course. The most important thing is to preserve the family, and show a proud, strong face to the world. If that means adapting to current politics and ideas, so be it – Merlin knows I wouldn't be able to do it, but you're young and unmarred."

"I'm not sure I even _have_ political ideas."

"I'm not that much better. As you might know, I haven't had much chance to apply myself. But you're young, you have time. Form beliefs. Make connections. As the future Lord Black, you'll be invited to many parties as a matter of courtesy, and there's always discussion there. I'll teach you how to conduct yourself in the beginning, and in time, you'll learn from experience how to participate on a deeper level."

Honestly, that sounded terrifying. Okay, a part of him would _really_ love to see the faces of Carl Sloper and his cronies when they found out their former target was the future Lord of a Noble and Most Ancient House, but he couldn't do this, surely he couldn't do this. There was no way someone like _him_ could take that kind of responsibility. Besides, he was sworn to a live of servitude – perhaps not formally, but he'd given his word, and that meant just as much.

But then... he had a pretty good idea what Lord Potter would say. _With this role, you can do a lot of good._ As Lord Black, he could formally ally their Houses, bring a key family vote to the Wizengamot... _As Lord Black_... his thoughts stumbled at the idea. That couldn't be him, not without someone telling him how to do everything.

"Aside from your responsibilities, of course," Lord Black continued, "you will be given all possible support, the formal backing of the House in conflicts, tutors if you need them; you'll be allowed to live in the Grimmauld house, have status roughly similar to that of the Malfoy heir, and of course when you're ready to take up the Lordship, you'll inherit the Black fortune. I believe it's currently about a hundred and seventy thousand Galleons."

Lesath fainted.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** chapter 4 ( _A Black Trial_ ) has been expanded a bit – just look after the horizontal line!


End file.
